


Weapons

by 391780 (goblinparty)



Series: Cold Wind [5]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Emotions!, Gen, more booze!, sad but still sorta fluffy, some crying!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinparty/pseuds/391780
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What makes sharing your personal information with a partner dangerous? The partner. If information is ammo and you give it to a weapon, a gun, you have to expect it's going to go off."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weapons

Wrench awoke to sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains. He'd almost forgotten where he was until he looked at the wood-paneled walls, covered in old photographs of Numbers as a kid. Wrench grinned into his pillow. He loved seeing these old photos of his partner, gangly with awkward body language and terrible polo shirts. Wrench laid on the futon, scanning the walls. He was most struck by photos of Numbers' sister, who looked to be very close to him in age, and had the same dark features as her brother. She was attractive, for a woman. Wrench stretched absentmindedly, and pushed himself off the bed and onto the floor. Photographs of his partners past filled his vision, and he felt extraordinarily privileged to see them. His bare feet padded in the wooden floor, as he searched the cabin for signs of his partner. He found a note left on the kitchen counter.

_Gone back to get the car. Will be back asap with supplies. STAY PUT._

Wrench smiled to himself, and scoured the cupboards for something to eat. All the cabin had were dusty MRE's and liquor, and he had to find something edible for breakfast. He flipped through the small brown packages, carefully reading each label. He'd heard that these things could either be decent or downright awful, and he racked his brain trying to remember which ones were supposed to be entirely inedible. He was about to tear into a package labeled 'pork rib' when Numbers popped into his field of vision, smiling and waving.

_Brought the car back. Idiots never found it._

Wrench put down his food. _How do you know?_

_They would have taken the guns if they had. I've got 'em on the back bed._

Numbers looked at the MRE sitting on the counter top.

_Don't fuck with those, I have no idea how old they are and from what I can remember they're pretty bad even when they're not super old. I have some A-r-b-y-s in the living room._ He jerked his head, beckoning for Wrench to follow.

The two men ate in silence, enjoying a warm meal on a frozen day. The fireplace had been cold for hours, and the cold air outside was starting to creep inside. Wrench could see his breath and the steam from his food, and wondered if there were spare jackets and sweaters around for him to bundle up in. Numbers wiped his mouth with a napkin.

_You get the fire started again, I'll call the Aussie. Let him know about the trouble we ran into._

Wrench nodded sharply, raising himself from the couch and kneeling down to line the fireplace with rows of kindling and yellowing newspaper. Wrench thought back to his days as a Boy Scout, and wondered if Numbers had ever done that. If he had, there would probably be photographs of it. Wrench scanned the walls, grinning at each picture of Numbers and his family. Numbers barely looked like the kid in the pictures anymore. His face got gotten longer, and he wasn't so skinny anymore. Still handsome, Wrench mused to himself. The fire roared to life, consuming the sticks and paper and gnawing on the larger pieces of firewood. Wrench stretched himself out on the couch, admiring the quaintness of the cabin, trying to imagine a younger Numbers in a Boy Scout uniform. He chuckled to himself, and the door opened, cold wind rushing into the room. Numbers stamped the snow off his shoes and shrugged his coat off his shoulders, looking agitated.

_Well?_

_Fargo wants us to stay put for a few days. Aussie figures whoever tried to grab the bag knows it's bound for Fargo and will keep an eye on the roads for a few days. Said may as well make them waste their time._ Numbers sighed and flopped down on the couch next to Wrench. He scanned the cabin, taking in every photograph, drawing, and outdated calender his mother had so lovingly hung up on the walls. He hadn't thought about her in years, and suddenly remembering her made him ache in sadness. Numbers stood up suddenly, crossing the room and taking the frames off the wall. He heard Wrench slap the tabletop behind him, and turned to face his partner.

_What are you doing?_

_D-e-s-t-r-o-y-i-n-g these._

Wrench's eyebrows shot up. _Why?_

_Dangerous._

_You said they're dead. They can't get hurt._

_Not for them. Me. Dangerous to be anything but the job. Gets you killed. You have any old pictures? Stuff with your real name on them?_

Wrench shook his head. He wondered if his parents still had old photos of him, or if they'd destroyed them out of spite.

Numbers popped the frames open, one by one, and carefully removed the photos from their frames. Wrench watched him sort the photos. Photographs of his sister and mother were gently set aside, while any with Numbers or his father was tossed into the fireplace. He continued wandering through the house, burning whatever photos or drawings or certificates he could find. He did not, however, remove the photograph of him and his sister in front of Mount Rushmore. He left it on the wall, staring at it. Wrench could tell something was special about this particular photo, but he didn't dare ask. He hoped Numbers would keep it, although he could not think of a compelling reason that he would do so. Numbers turned to his partner, eyes brimming with tears.

_Burn that one for me, would you?_

_No._

Numbers was shocked. He hadn't expected that answer.

_Why not?_

_Because you don't want me to._

Numbers chuckled a little bit. He'd only known Mr. Wrench a couple of months now, but the man could read him like a book. Numbers wondered if he was incredibly obvious or if Wrench was just perceptive, or perhaps a mix of both. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and running his hands over his hair. If he was going to cry, he was at least going to try to hide his face. He felt the couch shift as Wrench stood up. Numbers heard the heavy, plodding footsteps leading into the kitchen, then the sound of cupboards opening and closing. Wrench returned, thrusting an empty coffee can under Numbers' nose. Number grabbed it and looked up at the larger man.

_We'll bury it._

____________________________

 

Numbers stared out the window at the small mound of dirt in the snow. It was anything but inconspicuous, but with just a little more snowfall it would be hidden away forever. Wrench tapped him on the shoulder with a bottle of bourbon, and Numbers laughed. This seemed to be his solution for everything, but Numbers wasn't about to complain. 

_Thank you._ Wrench just nodded at that, a small smile creeping onto his face.

_What happened to her?_

_Who?_

Wrench threw Numbers an exasperated look and pointed out the window to the dirt mound.

_You already know too much about me._

_I'm not asking about YOU. I'm asking about HER._

Numbers shrugged and turned away. The two men sat in irritated silence, occasionally taking swigs of bourbon to break up the monotony of watching snow fall and logs burn. Wrench reprimanded himself for being so pushy, and wondered if he had ruined everything for good. After a few hours Numbers plodded into the kitchen and brought out a few of the MRE's for dinner. Numbers was twiddling an incredibly small bottle of Tabasco between his fingers when he felt a firm tap on his arm.

_You don't have to hide this stuff from me, you know._ Wrench drunkenly gestured to the blank spaces on the walls.

_Yes I do. You're dangerous._

_Not to you._

_I seem to remember you tying me to a chair and threatening me with a razor._

_It was a boxcutter, and I didn't hurt you._

_You would have._

_But I didn't!_

_Hardly matters. If Fargo needed me gone, they'd have you do it._

_I wouldn't!_

Numbers barked out a cruel laugh.

_What makes sharing your personal information with a partner dangerous? The partner. If information is ammo and you give it to a weapon, a gun, you have to expect it's going to go off._

Wrench sighed in exasperation.  _I'm not a weapon._

Numbers snickered. _You and me, we're both weapons. That's why we're here._

 _No._ Wrench snapped his fingers shut, eliminating all possibility. _I would never turn on you like that._

_What is it that I'm supposed to believe is the reason you're too devoted to ever screw me over? You owe me nothing. I have nothing on you._ Numbers crossed his arms.

Wrench's hands grew silent, falling into his lap.

_Come on, don't shut down on me now. You wanted to talk it out, let's talk it out._

Wrench hesitated, trying to pick the right words. If he fucked it up, he was worried Numbers might not talk to him again, or worse, ask the Aussie for a new partner.

_Before I tied you to a chair, I'd seen you before._

_I took your kill, you said._

_Yeah. I watched you do it. I saw you interrogate him and kill him, and I followed you to the lake and saw you dump him._

_I didn't even know you were there!_

_Of course you didn't, I'm good at my job._ Wrench allowed himself a small grin.  _I wanted to be angry with you. That guy was worth a lot of money. But I couldn't. You were so good at what you do, a complete p-r-o, it was just quick and clean and I just felt like a novice watching you work. I admired your work, and I respect you a lot._

Numbers paused before signing out a hesitant  _thank you._

_I guess what I'm trying to say is, I've got your back. Always. It doesn't matter if you believe me. We're partners. The shit we go through together, it's intense. You can't expect me to be entirely apathetic towards you. Not after Bismarck._ Numbers winced. Maybe it was the bourbon, but the man had a point. Wrench grabbed Numbers' shoulder with one hand.

_I'm with you. Whether you trust me or not._

Numbers smiled weakly. He'd never had anyone talk to him that way before. In any other circumstance he would have used this against the other man, but something in Wrench's eyes made it abundantly clear that he meant every single word. Numbers knew he had to give Wrench something, anything, to show the respect was mutual.

_My sister died when she was 17. Dad drove her home from a school play, and he was drunk. Wrapped the truck around a tree and walked away without a scratch. My sister was in the hospital for weeks before she just...._ he trailed off, choking back a sob he was grateful his partner couldn't hear.

_You were close?_ Wrench asked gently.

Numbers nodded, his eyes rapidly filling with tears that threatened to spill onto his cheeks at any moment. Wrench scooted over on the couch, positioning himself much closer to Numbers. He gently laid a hand on Numbers' back, rubbing soft, comforting circles between his shoulder blades. He felt the smaller man vibrate with the sobs he had tried so hard to stifle as he brought his hands up to cover his face. Wrench wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding him as he sobbed openly until he drunkenly cried himself to sleep. Wrench watched him sleep in his arms, not daring to let go for fear of never having the opportunity to hold him ever again. He stroked the older mans hair, watching him sleep peacefully. Nothing had ever felt more natural or comfortable to him in his life. Wrench found himself begging the universe to please please  _please_ let him have this. Just this one thing. Just to wake up the next morning and the morning after and the morning after that forever and ever with this man entwined in his arms. He sighed, and hoped the universe was listening.

 


End file.
